‘That girl at
the office is rude,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ the
others echo, very certain.
‘Which girl?’
you wonder.
‘The new girl at
the office,’ I say.
‘You no dey come
office again naa,’ one say.
‘Engineer don
get new secretary,’ another offer.
‘Why is it it’s
mostly girls who are employed as secretaries?’ you wonder. ‘It’s injustice.’
‘When you get
your own office, employ a guy.’
‘And sales
girls?’ you continue. ‘Everywhere, every advert: Sales girl wanted. Why not leave it open for both guys and girls alike?’
‘Imagine all
those Igbos wey dey sell building materials along Jattu Road employing boys as
their sales persons,’ I try to make you see.
‘Haa,’ one
laughs. ‘Na im be say business don spoil naa.’
‘But those
businessmen get umu boy, boy apprentices.’
You’re the only Igbo here. ‘Why business never spoil?’
One faces his
PC, the last vestiges of his laugh yet to fade from his countenance.
‘Nooo, you don’t
understand,’ I try harder, in that my characteristic manner of dismissing any
dissent with me as misunderstanding. ‘The point is: many girls have just enough
education for those kinds of jobs. You don’t expect a guy with all his
university education to become your secretary or sales man.’
‘But in my place
girls are as educated. Yet the injustice is still there.’
‘Na for your
place naa. Girls are investments there.’
‘Cheeiii!’
another exclaims. ‘To marry an Igbo girl no be here oo!’
But you’ve
stopped listening, talking, to them. You’re thinking, instead, how you must be
at the office tomorrow to swoop on the new girl. And in your place, you’re
thinking too, these kinds of jobs are not lifelong jobs. They are jobs one
does, mostly secondary school leavers, as one awaits a better thing, a
university admission. So why can’t guys be considered, too? But maybe it’s only
fair; hardly do girls go for ‘boy’.